Rhymes Of A Rolling Stone Part 3

You who find us in this place, Have you pity in your breast; Let us in our last embrace, Under earth sun-hallowed rest.

Night's a claw upon my brain: Oh, to see the sun again!

XV

The Sun! at last the Sun! I write these lines, Here on my knees, with feeble, fumbling hand.

Look! in yon mountain cleft a radiance s.h.i.+nes, Gleam of a primrose -- see it thrill, expand, Grow glorious. Dear G.o.d be praised! it streams Into the cabin in a gush of gold.

Look! there she stands, the angel of my dreams, All in the radiant s.h.i.+mmer aureoled; First as I saw her from my bed of pain; First as I loved her when the darkness pa.s.sed.

Now do I know that Life is not in vain; Now do I know G.o.d cares, at last, at last!

Light outlives dark, joy grief, and Love's the sum: Heart of my heart! Suns.h.i.+ne! I come . . . I come. . . .

The Idealist

Oh you who have daring deeds to tell!

And you who have felt Ambition's spell!

Have you heard of the louse who longed to dwell In the golden hair of a queen?

He sighed all day and he sighed all night, And no one could understand it quite, For the head of a s.l.u.t is a louse's delight, But he pined for the head of a queen.

So he left his kinsfolk in merry play, And off by his lonesome he stole away, From the home of his youth so bright and gay, And gloriously unclean.

And at last he came to the palace gate, And he made his way in a manner straight (For a louse may go where a man must wait) To the tiring-room of the queen.

The queen she spake to her tiring-maid: "There's something the matter, I'm afraid.

To-night ere for sleep my hair ye braid, Just see what may be seen."

And lo, when they combed that s.h.i.+ning hair They found him alone in his glory there, And he cried: "I die, but I do not care, For I've lived in the head of a queen!"

Athabaska d.i.c.k

When the boys come out from Lac Lab.i.+.c.he in the lure of the early Spring, To take the pay of the "Hudson's Bay", as their fathers did before, They are all a-glee for the jamboree, and they make the Landing ring With a whoop and a whirl, and a "Grab your girl", and a rip and a skip and a roar.

For the spree of Spring is a sacred thing, and the boys must have their fun; Packer and tracker and half-breed Cree, from the boat to the bar they leap; And then when the long flotilla goes, and the last of their pay is done, The boys from the banks of Lac Lab.i.+.c.he swing to the heavy sweep.

And oh, how they sigh! and their throats are dry, and sorry are they and sick: Yet there's none so cursed with a lime-kiln thirst as that Athabaska d.i.c.k.

He was long and slim and lean of limb, but strong as a stripling bear; And by the right of his skill and might he guided the Long Brigade.

All water-wise were his laughing eyes, and he steered with a careless care, And he shunned the shock of foam and rock, till they came to the Big Cascade.

And here they must make the long portage, and the boys sweat in the sun; And they heft and pack, and they haul and track, and each must do his trick; But their thoughts are far in the Landing bar, where the founts of nectar run: And no man thinks of such gorgeous drinks as that Athabaska d.i.c.k.

'Twas the close of day and his long boat lay just over the Big Cascade, When there came to him one Jack-pot Jim, with a wild light in his eye; And he softly laughed, and he led d.i.c.k aft, all eager, yet half afraid, And snugly stowed in his coat he showed a pilfered flask of "rye".

And in haste he slipped, or in fear he tripped, but -- d.i.c.k in warning roared -- And there rang a yell, and it befell that Jim was overboard.

Oh, I heard a splash, and quick as a flash I knew he could not swim.

I saw him whirl in the river swirl, and thresh his arms about.

In a queer, strained way I heard d.i.c.k say: "I'm going after him,"

Throw off his coat, leap down the boat -- and then I gave a shout: "Boys, grab him, quick! You're crazy, d.i.c.k! Far better one than two!

h.e.l.l, man! You know you've got no show! It's sure and certain death. . . ."

And there we hung, and there we clung, with beef and brawn and thew, And sinews cracked and joints were racked, and panting came our breath; And there we swayed and there we prayed, till strength and hope were spent -- Then d.i.c.k, he threw us off like rats, and after Jim he went.

With mighty urge amid the surge of river-rage he leapt, And gripped his mate and desperate he fought to gain the sh.o.r.e; With teeth a-gleam he bucked the stream, yet swift and sure he swept To meet the mighty cataract that waited all a-roar.

And there we stood like carven wood, our faces sickly white, And watched him as he beat the foam, and inch by inch he lost; And nearer, nearer drew the fall, and fiercer grew the fight, Till on the very cascade crest a last farewell he tossed.

Then down and down and down they plunged into that pit of dread; And mad we tore along the sh.o.r.e to claim our bitter dead.

And from that h.e.l.l of frenzied foam, that crashed and fumed and boiled, Two little bodies bubbled up, and they were heedless then; And oh, they lay like senseless clay! and bitter hard we toiled, Yet never, never gleam of hope, and we were weary men.

And moments mounted into hours, and black was our despair; And faint were we, and we were fain to give them up as dead, When suddenly I thrilled with hope: "Back, boys! and give him air; I feel the flutter of his heart. . . ." And, as the word I said, d.i.c.k gave a sigh, and gazed around, and saw our breathless band; And saw the sky's blue floor above, all strewn with golden fleece; And saw his comrade Jack-pot Jim, and touched him with his hand: And then there came into his eyes a look of perfect peace.

And as there, at his very feet, the thwarted river raved, I heard him murmur low and deep: "Thank G.o.d! the _WHISKEY's_ saved."

Cheer

It's a mighty good world, so it is, dear la.s.s, When even the worst is said.

There's a smile and a tear, a sigh and a cheer, But better be living than dead; A joy and a pain, a loss and a gain; There's honey and may be some gall: Yet still I declare, foul weather or fair, It's a mighty good world after all.

For look, la.s.s! at night when I break from the fight, My Kingdom's awaiting for me; There's comfort and rest, and the warmth of your breast, And little ones climbing my knee.

There's fire-light and song -- Oh, the world may be wrong!

Its empires may topple and fall: My home is my care -- if gladness be there, It's a mighty good world after all.

O heart of pure gold! I have made you a fold, It's sheltered, sun-fondled and warm.

O little ones, rest! I have fas.h.i.+oned a nest; Sleep on! you are safe from the storm.

For there's no foe like fear, and there's no friend like cheer, And suns.h.i.+ne will flash at our call; So crown Love as King, and let us all sing -- "It's a mighty good world after all."

The Return

They turned him loose; he bowed his head, A felon, bent and grey.

His face was even as the Dead, He had no word to say.

He sought the home of his old love, To look on her once more; And where her roses breathed above, He cowered beside the door.

She sat there in the s.h.i.+ning room; Her hair was silver grey.

He stared and stared from out the gloom; He turned to go away.

Her roses rustled overhead.

She saw, with sudden start.